


Ego Stroke

by merae2888



Series: Adulting [5]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9591263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merae2888/pseuds/merae2888
Summary: “I thought you were a good shot,” Roan says with a deep sigh.“I am,” Bellamy retorts through gritted teeth, snapping another arrow from the quiver on his back and notching it angrily in his bow. “With a gun.”ORBellamy's actually not good at one thing and it pisses him off so Clarke helps him feel better about it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's been so long since I updated, but the new season has revitalized my love of all things Bellarke so I'm back with a new smutty one-shot set in the nondescript canon future.

Clarke’s never wanted a sketchpad more than she does at this moment. 

Because Bellamy has never looked so petulant. It’s adorable. 

Roan is explaining, for perhaps the thousandth time, how to stand and aim and shoot an arrow and Bellamy is listening and trying not to roll his eyes. He really is getting better at dealing with Roan, but the Ice King looks like he’s trying to bait Bellamy, the exaggerated way he’s explaining the proper technique suggesting that he finds Bellamy slow. 

Bellamy wasn’t mastering archery the way he did most things and it was obviously grating on him, especially since no one else seemed to be having the same kind of struggle with it.

Jasper and Monty were standing in a line with Bellamy and while Clarke’s been watching, they haven’t missed a single target. Bellamy, on the other hand, hasn’t hit one, yet. 

Bellamy lines up another shot, his arm muscles straining nicely (Clarke would’ve liked to draw that too) as he raises the bow and aims the arrow. 

The arrow skews left, missing the target tree by five feet and striking dirt. 

“I thought you were a good shot,” Roan says with a deep sigh. 

“I am,” Bellamy retorts through gritted teeth, snapping another arrow from the quiver on his back and notching it angrily in his bow. “With a gun.”

This arrow gets lost somewhere in the branches above them. Roan groans again and tries to adjust Bellamy’s stance, immediately launching into another speech detailing how and why Bellamy was doing such a shitty job and Jasper and Monty start snickering and Clarke sees Bellamy’s nostrils flare. When Roan jostles his elbow, Bellamy cocks it back, almost hitting Roan in the face. Roan shoves him off and Bellamy shoves back and it’s a bit like the fights she used to see between schoolboys on the Ark and it’s almost funny, seeing these too grown men grapple at each other until Roan gets his knife in his hand and Bellamy pulls his gun. 

“Guys! Stop it!” Clarke is sprinting over to them and shoving herself between them before there’s any bloodshed. "What the hell is wrong with you?” Clarke yells, shoving Bellamy away from Roan. 

“I didn’t do anything. He started it,” Bellamy snarls. 

She rounds on him, exasperated. Roan and Bellamy weren’t bosom buddies or anything but getting in a fight over archery lessons was just ridiculous. 

“Let’s take a walk,” Clarke suggests. Bellamy’s still staring daggers at Roan as Clarke drags him away into the woods, walking far enough until they couldn’t hear the training anymore. 

When they finally stop, Bellamy slumps back against a tree. He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and Clarke can now see how strained he looks. She walks over to him and takes the hand he still has balled in a fist. At her touch, he startles and raises his head. Those usually soft brown eyes are sunken, exhausted. Clarke touches his cheek, thumbs at his bottom lip until he lets loose a breath. 

“You wanna talk?” 

He shakes his head with a tight-lipped smile. “No, sorry, I’m fine.”

“Bellamy,” she whispers, squeezing his hand. He squeezes back and then he pulls her close, hugging her tight as his head comes down beside hers. He turns his nose into her cheek, his ragged breath ghosting over her jaw while she twines her arms around his waist. 

“I just…need to get good at that.”

Clarke tugs on his hair until he leans back enough so she can look him in the eye again. “Why are you so worried about it? It’s not the end of the world if you can’t shoot an arrow into a tree.” 

“Maybe not, but,” he starts softly. “I’m usually good at this stuff.”

“You don’t have to be good at everything, Bellamy.” 

“But this is the stuff I’m supposed to do well: fighting, defending, weapons. It’s my thing.” 

There’s an unpleasant clenching in her gut at his words. All of it clicks into his place, his intense irritation at the lesson, lashing out at Roan. 

He’s Bellamy Blake. He has a reputation for just being damn good at everything he tries. And with the world having ended again and their weapons being obsolete, the skypeople need to learn how to protect and defend themselves with the weapons they can craft from the Earth. Bellamy started the training sessions with Roan, he was the one that encouraged everyone to learn as much as they could, the world was still so much a mystery, unknown horrors probably lying in wait to try and wipe them out again.

The fact that Bellamy couldn’t master one of the main, most effective ways of killing an enemy wasn’t a good thing for his leadership status. It’s a part of his identity, to be a defender of his people, a warrior. It’s killing him to be failing. 

Her heart breaks a little. She rocks up onto her tiptoes and nuzzles at his nose with hers. She kisses him softly, just a brush of their lips, a touch of affection. Bellamy hums, tries to chase her mouth when she angels her head away. 

She whispers into his ear, "You know, I don't give a fuck if you can shoot an arrow."

"Yea, I know," he says but it doesn’t sound like he believes his own words. 

“Really,” Clarke promises. “Did you think I would?”

He shrugs, trying to be casual but Clarke can tell it’s deeper than that. The air’s heavy, a thick mist cloying at them and he inhales raggedly. “I hate disappointing you.”

The confession comes with a faint half-smile, the one Clarke loves, the one that gets him a kiss every time he pulls it out, except now. She steps back, blinking up at him in shock. “Are you joking?”

He shrugs again and tries to pull her back to him, going for another kiss to brush away the heavy moment but she can’t just let it go. 

“You are not disappointing me,” she states firmly and Bellamy does that soft snort thing and the eye roll thing like he doesn’t believe her but he also doesn’t want to argue. “I’m serious.”

Bellamy nods, but it’s clear that this whole thing is still bugging him. Clarke cups his face and strokes at the dark spots beneath his eyes. 

“I love you, Bellamy and it has nothing to do with your archery skills.” 

Bellamy watches her for a second, the weight of his aching gaze on her almost painful but finally he smiles, a real one, and she steps closer and touches his stomach, lifting his shirt up and dragging her thumbs over the definition of his abs. The muscles clench under her fingers, his skin hot despite the chill of the forest. He noses at her hair, breathing deeply and finally starting to relax. His hands ran down her back and then up again, into her hair.

"You're my favorite person," Clarke says, making her voice deeper and rougher and Bellamy breathes a soft laugh into her temple. She scrapes her nails around his waist, dipping into his pants and raising goose bumps on his skin. "And you're such a badass, even if you can't use that thing." 

He snorts at that. "Thank you, baby.” His eyes are growing gentle, the hard edge melting away with her ministrations.

“Do you need some more convincing?”

Bellamy shoots her a roguish smirk. “What did you have in mind?” 

She stands on her tiptoes and kisses him, an insistent pressure of her mouth until he parts his lips. Bellamy groans a little when she flicks her tongue against the roof of his mouth. 

The skin of his neck is damp with sweat, his curls falling down past his ears. Clarke threads her fingers into them, rubs at his ears when he leans his head into her hand. Pressing into him, she hooks her leg around his waist, and licks deeper into his mouth. Bellamy's hand runs down her side and over the curve of her ass, his other one at her hip, pulling her closer.

A light rain begins to fall and Bellamy pulls back at the first few drops that hit his forehead, assuming that Clarke will want to go back.

But Clarke has other ideas. She latches onto his neck while she unbuckles his belt. The rain mixes with the sweat on his skin and she sucks a little harder than usual, the tangled flavors intoxicating. Clarke uses her teeth on his skin, biting at the stubble on his jaw. Bellamy cants his hips away from the tree he’s been leaning on so she can shove his pants down his legs. Her nails drag up the underside of his thighs, over his ass.

He rests his forehead on her shoulder when she slips her hand inside, swiping her thumb over the hot, wet head of his cock, making him shudder when she runs her hand down his solid length. She knows him so well by now, knows how to work him up and get him hot, curling her hand around him in a way that makes his knees weak. 

His head falls back against the tree when Clarke drops to her knees and pulls down his pants. The rain hits his hot, heavy cock, making him shiver before Clarke’s there, her head shielding him from the cold, her hair falling like a soft curtain. Her tongue flutters over the head of his cock, a sweet kiss of simple, loving contact. She loves how he tastes, earthy and dark and she hums with it. Bellamy feels the vibration under his skin, making his heartbeat much too hard in his chest. 

She goes on like that for a while, bathing his cock with teasing affection, licking hot and long down his length, cupping at his balls with her soft, deft fingers. When she finally sucks at his cockhead, Bellamy’s so far gone his brain whites out for a second. She twists her head, taking as much of him as she can into her mouth, stroking with a steady hand the part of him that won’t fit. 

Bellamy whimpers when she drags her tongue heavy up the underside of his shaft, giving him as much pressure as she can while her top lip glides over him. He touches her cheek to feel the way she’s sucking at him, her cheeks hollowing out around him, her jaw loose to take as much as possible. She moans when he slides deeper into her throat, her tongue fluttering at the base of his dick. He hits the back of her throat but she keeps going, opening up enough for his hard length to slide down. She chokes on him but holds steady, letting her throat work around him. His hand tangles in her hair, his other one gripping at the tree uselessly.

“Fuck, Clarke, that’s just….fuck.”

Impossibly, Clarke smiles around his huge cock. When Bellamy can’t focus enough to talk dirty to her, that’s when she knows she’s blowing his mind, figuratively and literally. She tilts her head back to look up at him, drags the head of his cock across the roof of her mouth. His eyes are watching her hungrily, mouth fallen slack and red from where he’s been biting at his lip. 

Clarke finally pulls back, her eyes wide and watery, staring up at him with such fondness. 

Bellamy pulls her to standing, his hands curled around her elbows as he draws her close. “Fuck, I love you, fucking love your mouth,” he rasps, thumbing away some of his precum at the corner of her mouth and swiping it over her bottom lip. 

She licks it away, smiling at him all dopey as she presses against him. “Love you,” she says, voice hoarse from sucking his cock. 

He ducks down to kiss her, licking at the lingering taste of himself on her tongue, tugging at her hair until she tips her head back. He kisses her roughly, a little more aggressive than usual but it gets her more turned on. He bites her chin, mouths at the line of her jaw and down her neck while her gets her pants open. 

Clarke loves it when he gets like this, when he takes control and she can just float away on the sensations of it. When he’s so far gone on her that his never-failing gentlemanly composure slips for a moment and he just goes for it. She doesn’t even realize that he’s spun them so he can press her into the tree and lean into her until the bark scratches at her skin. 

It’s nothing compared to the way Bellamy’s teeth drag over her collarbone, over the swell of her breasts. He sucks hard at her pebbled nipple through the soaked fabric of her shirt while he opens her pants, his calloused fingers rough on her body, eager as he pushes her underwear down and touches her. She’s already wet, sucking his cock always gets her hot, and Bellamy swears lowly into her skin when he feels how slick and ready she is for him.

Bellamy lifts her up a little and she wraps her legs around his waist, bracing herself on his spread thighs, the muscle there hard and straining. The rain is still coming down, slicking them up and Clarke slips down his body as he pushes up, filling her in a one tight, hot slide. He holds her waist as she grips onto his shoulders and he begins to move deep inside her, barely pulling out before pressing back in. Clarke breathes hot and heavy into his neck, drying the raindrops on his skin, using her teeth on him when it all feels too good.

They usually draw it out, take their time and savor the drag of his cock inside her but being outside in the rain adds an impatient edge to them both. Bellamy holds her hips back against the tree, changing the angle so that his cock rubs against the front of her cunt with every grind and thumbs at her clit, getting her to the edge quick. He fucks her hard and fast, their skin slapping wetly together. Clarke’s body locks up when she’s close and Bellamy redoubles his efforts, holding her steady when shudders with pleasure, moaning his name as she wraps herself tighter around him. 

He thrusts into her a few more times before he comes, drawing it out as much as he can, keeping them both in the throes of it with spastic little jerks of his hips. He buries his face into her shoulder, licks away a few raindrops while she cards her fingers through his damp hair as they both wind down. After a still, silent moment, Clarke tips his chin up to kiss him lazily and he grunts into her mouth, bites gently at her tongue.

It’s kind of a mess when they break apart. Bellamy strips off his shirt and uses it to clean them both up before fixing Clarke’s shirt and pants. She always gets a little spacey after sex, so she just lets him maneuver her around until she’s fully clothed again, grinning at him all dopey and sated. He tucks his shirt into the waistband of his pants and zips his jacket up over his bare chest.

Clarke leans into his side as they walk back to camp, holding hands.

“How weird would it be for me to say ‘thank you’ right now?”

Clarke laughs softly and squeezes his hand. “Always happy to stroke your ego, Bell.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments stroke my ego ;) my writing ego, that is!


End file.
